


Run

by Elri (angelrider13)



Series: Resist Order 66 [5]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Caleb is a survivor, Depa loves all of her children, Gen, Grey wants to shoot everyone in charge, Order 66, Order 66 doesn't go exactly the way it's supposed to, Read at Your Own Risk, Tissue Warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-11 08:46:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5620675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelrider13/pseuds/Elri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Depa never runs. She buys time so that others can.</p><p>Caleb runs. And he doesn’t stop.</p><p>Grey wishes he could.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Depa

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Беги](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10358070) by [Kalgary_Nurse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalgary_Nurse/pseuds/Kalgary_Nurse)



> Alright So those of you who speak to me via comments or actually take the time to read the comments, may have notice me dropping hints. This was one of the hints and I know those of you who got it freaked out and wanted me to write these guys.
> 
> Well here it is.
> 
> Actually serious this time: BRING TISSUES. If you drown your computer, it is not my fault. I warned you.
> 
> Also warning you that I'm changing up the order to the chapters with this one. Jedi first, clone trooper last.

It happens on Kaller.

It’s a simple mission. Not an easy mission, no. This is war and nothing about it is easy. But some things are simpler than others. Depa sighs as she remembers her Padawan’s reaction to that. The natives don’t see them any differently than they see the Separatists.

She is not surprised.

War is not kind and those who are outside of the conflict are the victims of violence that they did nothing to invite.

Caleb doesn’t quite understand.

Part of Depa hopes that he never will.

But it’s a naïve hope. She knows it is. Her Padawan will not come out of this war unscathed no matter how much she might wish him to.

There are moments though were she can – well, not forget, but think about something else. Moments where there is no fighting, no battlefields filled with fire and blood and death. Quiet moments. Happy moments. Moments filled with laughter that has become far too rare in this day and age.

She hides a smile as Styles reaches out and ruffles Caleb’s hair, a teasing smile on his lips. Caleb squawks in protest and bats his hands away.

Yes, these moments are becoming increasingly rare.

But that just makes them infinitely more precious.

Grey steps away, his comm chirping at him and she waves him off.

Caleb is pouting at her as if he expects her to jump in and save him. She just smirks and raises an eyebrow. Her Padawan’s pout deepens.

She opens her mouth to say something – she doesn’t even know what – when it hits her.

The wave slams into her, stealing the breath from her body. Death. Death everywhere. There’s so _many_. Three years of war across the galaxy and Depa has never in her life felt anything like this. The Force screams warning at her. She sees flashes – Jedi falling, _dying_.

And their troops are the ones shooting them.

She surges to her feet, lightsaber in hand before she even realizes it. Her hand snatches Caleb and drags him behind her just as her men turn on them.

She shouts at them. Demands, pleads, asks what going on, what’s happening, _why are you doing this?_

Her only response is a cold, flat, “Good soldiers follow orders.”

It’s _wrong_.

Something is not right. These are her men. _Hers_. She knows them.

But they are shooting at her.

Shooting at her Padawan.

Caleb.

Her Padawan.

Her responsibility.

Her child.

She has to protect him. She keeps herself between her troops and her child even as she drags him along. Even as he tries to step up beside her. She pushes him towards the trees, away from them, away from danger.

She can see the conflict on his face, the hesitation in his eyes. He wants to stay with her, wants to help her. She knows he does. His love for her at war with his duty to listen to her orders.

Force, he’s such a sweet, bright child. Her blessing. Her gift. She wishes she had more time with him.

She opens her mouth and the first lie she has ever told him spills out.

“Go! I’ll be right behind you!”

Caleb runs.

Her heart _aches_. She shoves it aside as she stares her troops down. She deflects shot after shot, loses track how many of her men she’s injured, how many she’s killed.

She needs to keep Caleb safe.

They will not touch him.

She sees Styles aim at something past her. She turns. Her heart stops.

 _Caleb_.

“Styles, _NO_!” she shouts, reaching out and shoving his blaster aside with the Force.

Then everything is pain.

A shot connects, searing into her flesh. Her scream is lodged in her throat as she falls. It _hurts_. Her lightsaber slips from her fingers as she goes down, the world closing in around her. Distantly, she feels the pain, hears the blasters fire, her troopers shouting.

Funny.

She doesn’t remember dying hurting this much.

Then again, the last time this happened, she had not been fighting someone she trusted.

This…this is worse than last time.

She’s dying. She can feel it.

Her men are killing her.

Her men are killing her and there’s nothing she can do about it.

Her men are killing her and there will be no one left to protect her Padawan.

_Caleb, RUN!_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Caleb

They killed her.

_Go! I’ll be right behind you!_

They killed her.

_Caleb, RUN!_

They killed her.

Oh _Force_ , they _killed her_.

He’s running.

He hasn’t stopped running since he saw her fall and heard her shout in his head. His lightsaber is clutched so tightly, he can feel the metal digging into his palm. He barely feels it.

They killed her.

He trips and goes tumbling to the ground. His clothes are torn, he’s covered in dirt and bruises, there are leaves and twigs caught in his hair. He lays there, dazed, eyes staring out into nothing. The Force is wild and raging, like a storm. It’s screaming and crying and he can hear his Master’s last order echoing through it.

_Caleb, RUN!_

He curls in on himself, throat tight and eyes burning. There’s a knot in his chest that seems to grow larger with every second that passes. He presses both hands to his mouth, nearly smacking himself in the face with his lightsaber hilt in his haste, to smother the sounds that are trying to rip free.

He has to be quiet.

He has to be quiet or they’ll find him.

 _Control_ , he thinks, _Don’t let your emotions rule you_.

He lies there, fighting to get himself under control.

They killed her.

He needs to get out of here. He can’t stay. They’ll find him.

They killed her.

They’ll kill him.

He forces himself to his feet, hooking his lightsaber to his belt.

He runs.

He doesn’t stop.

* * *

He curls up in the fighter’s pilot seat, chest heaving as he sucks in breath after breath.

Hyperspace is quiet.

The Force isn’t.

It echoes inside his head – a high, keening sound. A sound of loss. A sound of mourning.

What is going on?

He reaches into his tunics, pulling out his comm. He felt the chaos in the Force. He knows what happened. But. He switches he comm onto the Jedi frequency. Maybe, maybe there’s someone out there. Maybe he’s not alone.

The comm flairs to life in his palm, a familiar figure appearing.

“This is Master Obi-Wan Kenobi,” the holo says, “I regret to report that both our Jedi Order and the Republic have fallen.”

Caleb sucks in a sharp breath, eyes going wide in disbelief.

“With the shadow of the Empire rising to take their place,” Master Kenobi continues, “This message is a warning and a reminder to all surviving jedi: Do _not_ return to the Temple. That time has passed and out future and uncertain. _Avoid Coruscant._ Avoid detection. Be _secret,_ but be _strong_. We will each be challenged: our trust, our faith, our friendships. But we must persevere, and in time I believe a new hope will emerge.”

Caleb brings a trembling hand up to cover his mouth.

“May the Force be with you always,” Master Kenobi says.

His comm blinks out and Master Kenobi’s holo disappears.

Gone.

It’s all gone.

The Republic, the _Jedi_. All of it.

He’s alone.

He curls in on himself, pulling his knees up to his chest and burying his face in them. He grits his teeth against the scream that’s fighting to escape.

What does he do?

_What does he do?_

He’s alone, hunted, with no hope of outside help. Every place he could think to go is immediately dismissed. He can’t go to any of those places. They’re Republic. They’re Jedi. They’ll expect him to go there. He needs to go somewhere else. But _where_?

He can’t get caught. He can’t.

He has to stay alive.

They killed her.

She was protecting him and they killed her.

He has to stay alive.

He reaches for the Force, trembling and fearful.

 _Where?_ He asks.

Silence.

He growls to himself, frustrated, as tears start streaming down his cheeks.

 _Control_ , he thinks, _I have to stay in control_.

The Force reaches back. _Grieve_ , it says.

The dam breaks.

He weeps. He screams, he sobs. He pulls at his hair and pounds at his legs and digs his nails into his palms. He _hurts_ , like a part of him has been violently ripped away. He wants it to stop. He wants it all to stop.

It doesn’t.

He shatters.

He’s alone, flying through space in a stolen fighter, screaming his grief at the stars.

And all he can think is

_They killed her._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda on the short side, but packed with feels none the less. Next time is Grey! His chapter will be longer.


	3. Grey

It starts simply.

They’re joking, laughing. Styles is teasing their little Commander. He’s all heart and bite and gives right back. It’s a rare peaceful moment, ones he’s learned to savor. Grey shakes his head with a laugh, standing as his comm beeps at him. His General’s eyes are alight with laughter as she waves him off.

If there’s one thing he’s grateful to the kid for, it’s his ability to make General Billaba smile again.

He hopes it’s a talent the kid can keep.

He flips on his comm.

_Execute Order 66._

Grey is a soldier. War is what he was trained for. And after facing it’s horrors for the past few years, he can effectively say that it takes _a lot_ to scare him.

He has never been more terrified in his entire life.

_Good soldiers follow orders._

Knowledge busts to life in his mind, sudden and all consuming.

His body starts moving on its own.

He’s going to kill his General.

_Good soldiers follow orders._

His General who nearly died to keep him and his brothers alive. His General who live but fell into a coma anyway.

His heart is in his throat. Not just his General. His Commander too. This _kid_ – for all that he insists he’s not – who laughs with them and fights with them and constantly asks them questions.

Looking around at his brothers, he sees the way they all reach for their blasters. The way they all turn toward their Jedi. It’s not just him. It’s _all_ of them.

Force, they’re going to kill both of them.

_GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

He wanted to shout at them. To tell his brothers to put down their weapons, to warn his Jedi.

He doesn’t know what happens, but General Billaba is suddenly on her feet between them and Commander Dume, lightsaber flaring to life in her hand a mere moment before they open fire on them.

_GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

His General is shouting at them. Demanding, pleading, to know what is going on, but the only words that come out of his mouth are an echo of the ones ringing in his head.

It hurts.

The expression of betrayal on his General’s face is like a shot to the chest. The confused terror that Commander Dume seems unable to contain, even as he tries to help General Billaba only for her to drag him away. The fierce determination in his General’s eyes as she keeps herself between them and her Padawan.

It hurts.

_GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

She should never have to protect herself from them.

They should never have turned on her. And they _haven’t_ , but here they all are, trying their best to gun her down.

General Billaba shoves Commander Dume in the direction of the trees, ordering him to run. He sees his Commander’s hesitation, hears the words that fall from his General lips. The promise she gives too make him finally flee.

Grey feels his stomach sink.

He knows his General. He’s her Commander. He’s from her old battalion. He’s one of the troopers she nearly died defending. He knows her.

She’s lying.

_GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

General Billaba is good.

But he knows she isn’t good enough. Not to fight all of them. She can’t.

The break comes when Styles takes aim at something other than the General. Grey doesn’t have to look to know who he’s aiming at.

 _Caleb_.

His General turns, flinging her arm out, fingers splayed, and he knows the shot will miss.

But he feels no relief.

Because as her back is turned, he takes a shot himself.

And it connects.

_GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

General Billaba goes down hard, lightsaber falling from her grasp.

But he and his men keep shooting.

He wants to scream at them, turn his blaster on himself and his brothers, anything to make this insanity stop. He grapples with the thing in his mind. This is _his_ body damnit, and his is _not_ killing his Jedi.

Control snaps back so suddenly that his body jerks, blaster falling from suddenly nerveless fingers. The voice in his head yells louder, demanding control, ordering him to obey, clawing at him, trying to draw him back in.

He digs in his heels and screams his defiance.

Without thought, he throws himself over his General’s still form.

The shooting stops.

For a long, still moment, there is nothing but silence. Then, one by one, the sound of blasters hitting the ground. Then a tentative voice.

“G-Grey? Is…is she…?”

Soot.

Grey forces himself up and looks at his General, finally registering her condition. She’s still. So very, very still. With trembling fingers, he searches for a pulse.

One beat.

Then two.

“Not yet,” he says, “Styles, help me. Soot, gather the troops. We’re getting out of here.”

“What about Commander Dume?” Big-Mouth asks, subdued.

Grey pauses. Thinks of the youngling who brought a smile to his General’s face in the middle of this Force forsaken war and feels the thing in his head surge to life with a vengeance.

“We can’t,” he says, voice cracking, “We can’t go near him. Not like this. Leave him be; he’s a resourceful kid. He’ll figure something out.”

His throat feels tight and his chest aches. His General is dying. His Commander saw them shoot her.

 _Force_.

This is such a kirffing mess.

With Styles’ help, he maneuvers General Billaba onto her back. He pulls the remains of her cloak tightly around her, tucking her arms into her sleeves and pulling the hood up over her head so that it hides her face from view.

He grabs her lightsaber, hooking it to his belt, before carefully scooping his General up into his arms. Styles helps him keep her steady as he rises and between the two of them, they get her to the gunship.

Grey curls his body around hers, one hand wrapped around her wrist, fingers at her pulse point.

One beat.

Then two.

He stays like that the entire flight.

* * *

“Good work.”

Those are the first two words Grey hears after finishing his report.

He has never wanted to shoot someone so much in his _life_.

There are two problems with this.

One, the man he’s reporting to is a holo projection.

Two, the smug bastard is an Admiral.

And he doesn’t seem to give a damn that everything’s just gone to hell.

Grey spends the rest of the debrief with his fists clenched tight as he gives the shortest answers possible through clenched teeth. When it’s done, he storms off the bridge and stomps down to medical. The halls outside it are crowded in a way that is completely against regulation, but Grey couldn’t care less. His brothers look anxious, horrified, exhausted. None of them understand what’s happened. Some of them think that what’s happened is good. They are knocked out and shoved in the brig. The rest of them have pounding, almost crippling, headaches and all of them are complaining of a voice screaming inside their heads.

Medical is grimly silent.

Only the sounds of the machines at work can be heard. His brothers couldn’t bear to be here after what happened. And only two steps in the door, he’s about ready to turn around and walk out.

But he’s the Commander. Without their Jedi, he’s the highest ranking officer here. His brothers are looking to him for answers he doesn’t have.

General Billaba is still unconscious, now floating in becta.

Her wounds have been treated and she still lives. But she’s in a coma.

Again.

Only this time, she wasn’t dying for them.

She was dying _because_ of them.

Grey feels something surge up in his mind and then the sensation from Kaller is back, hitting him full force and knocking the air from his lungs. He drags his eyes away from his General, wrenching his body away, turning and slamming his fists down on a nearby biobed just as the screaming starts.

_GOOD SOLDIERS FOLLOW ORDERS._

Underneath it, he hears the quiet, compelling, _kill her, kill her, kill her, killherkillthemall._

 _She’s already BRAIN DEAD_ , he shouts back, _WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!_

It doesn’t stop.

With a snarl, he grabs the biobed and hurls it away from him. It slams into the wall with a crash. His breathing is harsh and his muscles are wound tight. He turned back to the becta tank, but doesn’t look at its occupant. Doesn’t let himself see, keeps his eyes shut. If he can’t see her, maybe it won’t know.

He falls to his knees, pressing his forehead to the cool glass of the tank.

 _General_ , he thinks, _General, I’m sorry. General, I’m so sorry. General. General, General, General, what do I do? I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. How do I make it stop? Tell me please. How do I fix this?_

There’s no answer.

Grey isn’t sure how long he’s been sitting there when a hand lands on his shoulder. It could have been seconds or years. He wouldn’t know. Turning, he looks up to see Styles’ concerned face, Big-Mouth and Soot hovering behind him.

He can see the same question on all of their faces.

The same one that he has no real answer to.

_What do we do?_

He pushes himself to his feet, closes his eyes for a moment and starts breathing in the pattern General Billaba showed him ages ago before everything started going to shit. Surprisingly, it makes the voice in his head quiet more quickly than anything else he’s tried.

“You alright, Grey?” Soot asks softly, “We heard the crash.”

Grey releases a breath slowly, opening his eyes. He’s not okay. Not even close. But he can think now.

“Fine,” he says shortly, “Don’t look at the General.”

He gets three grim nods at that.

The four of them stand in silence for a long moment. It’s almost a tangible thing, thick and heavy. Their General’s presence is a weight on their shoulders they all acknowledge even as they pointedly ignore her. It’s always the four of them. The last ones of General Billaba’s first battalion.

Their brothers outside love their General, would bleed and fight and _die_ for her. They are shaken and terrified by what’s happened and all of them are looking to Grey, to Styles, to Soot, to Big-Mouth for answers, for guidance, for _help_.

The four of them are their General’s limbs and hold her up when she cannot do it herself.

“Alright,” Grey says at last, “Styles you’re with me. We’re getting the General out of here, have the droids start the evac.”

Styles nods and leaves without a word.

“You sure about this?” Big-Mouth asks quietly.

Grey gives him a thin smile. “Absolutely not,” he says, “But she can’t stay here and I’m not leaving her alone, not when she’s like this.”

Big-Mouth’s lips press into a displeased line and Soot shifts on his feet, brow furrowing. “What do you want us to do?”

“Exactly what you’re told,” Grey says immediately, “Hold the fort. Lay low, follow orders, don’t draw attention to yourselves. We’ll get in contact with you when we can. When…when the General wakes up, we can talk about our next move.”

Big-Mouth and Soot exchange a look, Grey easily catching the question that neither one of them wants to ask but should be said.

“If,” he starts slowly, quietly, grimly, voice full of dark promise, “ _If_ she doesn’t wake up, we will find those responsible for this and _we will make them burn_. Understood?”

His brothers snap to attention. “Sir.”

He nods in acknowledgement as Styles enters with two medical droids.

“Let’s get to work.”

* * *

The ship is quiet.

Grey is in no mood to talk and Styles has barely said a word since Kaller.

The medical droids had loaded up the becta tank into one of their smaller transports and the four of them had taken off as soon as they could. Soot fabricated a report about their deaths in an attack by remnant Separatist forces while Big-Mouth had started drilling their younger brothers in the meditation exercises that General Billaba had taught them.

The enemy can get into their heads, is already in their heads.

No one can know.

General Billaba is alive.

No one can know.

The medical droids with them are the only ones that escaped the mind wipes for all droids with their battalion.

No one can know.

They have to protect her.

They have to keep her safe.

Grey sits in the lotus position his General favors on the ground by the becta tank, his back pressed against the glass. His hands rest on his knees, palm up, loose and relaxed.

He breathes.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

One beat.

Then two.

_What do we do?_

He feels a tug at his mind, soft and gentle and _familiar_ compared to the strangle hold he’s quickly becoming used to.

 _Run_ , his General whispers, _Survive._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I warned you.
> 
> There ain't no breaks on this pain train.
> 
> As always, the story tag on my tumblr is [here](http://angelrider13.tumblr.com/search/resist+order+66).


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